King Bolden
He came out of uptown New Orleans, blazed for a few years, and then disappeared into silence.
Born Charles Bolden in 1873, he was one among the army of musicians who played the rounds of dances, concerts, parades, and funerals.
But there was something special about him; something that turned him from a run-of-the-mill horn player into a wild man who set the nights ablaze in the bloody Rampart Street saloons and music halls, blowing his heart out through the bell of his silver cornet, playing sounds that no one had ever heard before. People said he and his music were crazy.
They started calling him “Kid Bolden,” then “King Bolden,” and he really was the king of New Orleans, as he led a band of rebels in a siege of the fortress of proper music.
Then he began to come apart. No one is sure whether it was the drinking, the drugs, or just random insanity, but he stumbled out of control.
When he died, alone and forgotten, his body was placed in an unmarked grave.
Buddy Bolden was American music’s original genius. And its first casualty.
